


Just waxed

by Camfield



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-22
Updated: 2012-03-22
Packaged: 2017-11-02 09:04:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/367293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Camfield/pseuds/Camfield
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From the 50 reasons to have sex post!</p><p>Inspired by- 23. Just shaved (waxed) legs</p><p> </p><p>Universe: G1<br/>Rating: nc17<br/>Characters: Soundwave/Tracks<br/>A/N: Sticky style sex. The unkinkiest bedroom talk ever.  Seriously Soundwave.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just waxed

Tracks loved Soundwave. Tracks loved the cassettes, regardless of who’d sired the first few; they were a part of his family, something he wouldn’t trade for the world. Right now though, the corvette was more than a little frustrated.

There were times that Tracks had, in their fairly long stint as spark bound mates, wondered if Soundwave had lost interest in him completely. The first time Soundwave had gently refused to interface, citing tiredness; Tracks had clamped down on his pride and let it go. The second time, he’d lay awake, running through a list of things he’d done that might have made Soundwave upset.

The third time and after, Tracks waited until Soundwave had fallen asleep before moving out to the sitting room to have a little mope and cry session with his favorite pillow.

Sometimes he missed the newness of their relationship. Where they’d still been learning each other’s behaviors and quirks and interfacing was passionate and frequent and pit slagging good. Granted, after the first few million vorn it was easier to let it go, but there were some things that he missed from ‘before’.

Like waxing, he really missed waxing. 

He honestly wasn’t sure when he had last taken the time to wax himself, really get back to even half of the standard he had kept for god knows how long.

Right now though, Soundwave had the kids out, doing whatever it was they did together, and Tracks was in the middle of an oil bath with the intent to wax, buff and make himself GLEAM.

A sigh drifted through the bath room, Tracks luxuriating in the feel of hot oil sliding into the creases and crevices of his armor. It was unkinking cables and soothing sore neural lines in places he hadn’t even known hurt until they settled back into place.

Heaven, that was what this was, pure heaven. He deliberated for a second on whether to ask Soundwave to take the cassettes out much more often before reluctantly deciding it was a bit too unfair. The tape deck already took more than his share of excursions with the cassettes because of Tracks’ advising job, something that made the corvette feel more than a little guilty.

Tracks drug out the process as much as he could, setting up his long shelved supplies with infinite care. He started with his pedes, carefully filling in the little scratches and nicks with quick dry paint. One day soon he promised himself he would go in for a full strip and repaint, but for now this was good enough.

Perfect really, considering the amount of ‘down time’ he could scrounge away from his family.

Soon enough he was lovingly spreading a generous layer of high quality wax onto his legs. Firm, calculated movements rubbed the sweet smelling product over his plating, leaving the smooth, gleaming metal to shine. 

Both legs finished and Tracks stopped to admire his handiwork. He was out of practice; the wax was slightly uneven in some places, a little too thick or too thin, but the feel of having freshly waxed legs again…

PIT he’d forgotten how good it felt.

He’d just started on his pelvic plating when he heard the unmistakable sounds of his family coming back.

Groaning, Tracks finished his front quickly and started to put his supplies away, already bemoaning the loss of his alone time. At least he’d gotten his legs finished before they’d come back.

Moving out into the living space he greeted the cassettes with hugs and kisses, already nodding at their vigorous retelling of the day’s exploits, before sending a nod and smile toward his mate. Tracks’ attention was commandeered again before Soundwave could respond, so he missed the flash of surprise that flickered across the red visor before it darkened in a most delightfully pleased way.

 

Tracks hummed to himself as he cleaned up the remains of their evening meal. The cassettes had been tired enough from their outing that they’d been wonderful all night long, the youngest even falling asleep in her Energon at the table. Soundwave was tucking them in for the night before rejoining Tracks for a small glass of high grade, a treat for both of them in more ways than one.

He set out two fluted glasses and the snifter they kept locked in a cupboard before easing himself down on the couch and reclining against the arm. His legs, still shiny and smooth, made their way curled up under him and he stroked a servo from thigh to pede, relishing the feel of something long taken for granted.

His optics shuttered as he stroked himself, the sensation of fingers gliding over freshly waxed metal sending tingles along his sensor net. The corvette was so focused that he didn’t notice Soundwave leaning on the doorframe to the sitting area, visor snapped away, watching with arousal dark optics. Tracking slender digits as they moved up, then down the broad expanse of leg, the tips only just barely touching the metal at all.

It was maddening, Tracks thought, in the best of ways. He could feel a wonderful tingling, the barest charge, starting in his tank. His other servo, which had been loosely curled around his torso, reached out to join its twin, both of them now sliding in deliberate movements before he shifted to bring his knees up in front of him. Pedes were planted close to the backs of blue thighs and Tracks’ mouth was open just slightly, vents coming just a little more quickly than before. Fingers kept their steady pattern of long strokes, lingering on sensitive seams or dipping briefly to tease neural lines or protoform before continuing their journey.

Soundwave watched Tracks stroke himself, not moving from his position against the doorframe. The kids were in recharge, soundly for once, and he had been looking forward to his glass of high grade and an uninterrupted night of rest for once.

Seeing Tracks with his legs freshly waxed when they’d come home had been a shock. They’d both given up a bunch of different things in order to make a happy family home for the cassettes, Tracks’ ever shining finish had been one of many sacrifices, along with both of their social lives. He’d never once thought it wasn’t worth it, but it had hurt when he’d heard Tracks cry into the pillows at night, thoughts loud and wondering if he was still beautiful enough to turn the second most powerful mech in all of Cybertron’s helm.

It was wonderful to see his mate this happy, even if it was over a simple wax.

Ever so slowly, pedes hitting the ground with no sound at all, Soundwave made his way over to the couch, circling to stand right above parted lipplates. His optics turned soft and he lowered himself to kiss the red forehelm, then the tip of the nasal sensor, and finally the gently smiling mouth. Tracks unshuttered his optics as they broke apart, amusement coloring his gaze.

“High grade?”

A nod and Tracks slid out from under the cassette deck. Uncapping the snifter, he poured them each a small bit of the potent Energon, their fingers dragging over each other’s as the glass was passed. Soundwave sat down and for a moment they stilled, sipping their high grade and enjoying each other’s company. 

“Tracks: Looks wonderful tonight.”

Soundwave reached over and stroked down a thigh, pulling the leg into his lap and clasping it, his thumb moving in circles over the metal. Tracks gave a sigh and lifted his other leg to join the first.

“Thank you. It feels good, having my legs waxed again. They haven’t been this smooth in more vorn than I care to count.”

A hum was the only answer he received, and they sat there, sipping high grade, both stroking the smooth plating of Tracks legs. 

It was nice. It was comforting, to reaffirm themselves in the smallest of ways, relaxing into each other in a manner that they hadn’t lately been able to. Tracks moved a servo on top of Soundwave’s, stilling the motion and bringing attention up to his own face.

For Tracks, it felt a little weird to feel the need to ask if Soundwave wanted to interface, but the charge was there, and he was more than willing. Just… a little hesitant. It had been a while and-

“Tracks.” Soundwave interrupted that train of thought before it grew, snapping his mouth guard away in a show of undivided attention. “Soundwave: Would love to interface with you. Fact: Soundwave loves Tracks, regardless of time apart.”

Tracks brought the blue servo to his lips and kissed each fingertip before clasping it to his cheek. It had been a long time, but Soundwave was right. They’d gone longer before and Tracks knew his mate wasn’t the type to say something that wasn’t true.

“Come on then. We’re too old to do this on the couch.” With a chuckle Tracks moved to swing his legs off of Soundwave only to find himself held tight. “What are you-“

Soundwave’s optics gleamed with mischief, his servos creeping up to wrap around Tracks waist before he slung the corvette over his shoulder. A startled yelp was muffled against his back plating and he moved quickly to the berth room, punctuated by a slap on the aft in recrimination. It was with pleasure that he returned the smack, accompanied by a firm, “Tracks: Behave.”

He could feel Tracks’ mirth and arousal, all mixed with a tender affection. Soundwave stumbled as the neared the berth, setting his mate down with a ‘thunk’ and nearly falling on top of him, laughing even as he pressed close and stole a breathless kiss.

Tracks’ legs slid like silk along his own, the sweet smelling wax just noticeable in the air. He pressed forward, settling between the smooth thighs and for a good moment in time they just lay like that, mouthing each other’s face and neck, nuzzling nasal sensors together, venting hot air over audials in slow, unhurried movements. 

It was wonderful. No worries about being interrupted, being able to take as much time as they wanted just to enjoy each other, to enjoy being with each other.

So slowly, the charge built. Servos began to move, pressing against seams, delving in to stroke wires or flashes of protoform, stroking and petting over arousal flushed plating. Tracks hiked up his legs and clamped them to either side of Soundwave’s hips, rocking upward to scrape their interface panels against each other.

They both shuddered, Soundwave reaching down to run a servo from hip gimbal to knee joint, pulling the leg to curl around his aft, sliding his spike panel back in the same moment. It wasn’t pressurized, and for a moment Tracks froze, optics questioning. He raised a servo to Soundwave’s face, trying to hide his own confusion and no small amount of hurt.

“Soundwave?”

Soundwave said nothing, just pulled the servo into one of his own, kissing it, and bringing it down to rest on his flaccid cord.

“Statement: Needs Tracks’ special attention.”

Tracks was still confused, Soundwave had never before needed his help to get it up, and he knew for a fact that he was already lubed up enough, the proof was dripping from his panel seams. Nevertheless, he stroked the length softly, rubbing the sensor cluster just behind the ridge of the head with each pass.

A shudder, a breathy moan, but the cord stayed more limp than hard. Tracks could see Soundwave’s frustration mounting and pulled the mech down to his chest before rolling them over. He pressed a tender kiss to the corner of a downturned mouth, then moved back to sit on his heels. The cable lay against a white thigh, and even though they had been together for so long Soundwave couldn’t meet Tracks’ optics. There was a light flush on his face, vents heavy with an embarrassment that was uncharacteristic, and his servos were clenched into fists on the berth foam.

“My special attention hmmm?” Tracks deliberately passed over the cord to drag a finger through the cabling where thigh met pelvic plate, just brushing the sensitive lines. His mouth followed, glossa tracing the glyphs for his name onto Soundwave’s plating just above the spike housing before kissing the navy blue and white cable.

Thumbs stroked just beside the spike housing, an alternating rhythm causing the barest of twitches, and nosed the cord aside to lick the space between spike and valve. While he generally preferred Soundwave to do the pitching, it was apparent that something was different tonight and he wasn’t going to lose this treasured time for anything short of an emergency.

So he shifted lower and caught up Soundwave’s aft, snagging a pillow and maneuvering it so Soundwave was as exposed as he could possibly be. Tracks could see the telltale signs of tension already running through white legs and kissed the inside of each knee before lying down. He shifted his mate’s pedes until they were resting under the shoulder joint, close to his torso, and reached up to clasp their servos together.

“Relax love; let me take care of you tonight.”

The words were whispered against his inner thigh, but Soundwave heard each one as though it was shouted right at him. Tracks kissed the metal everywhere but the obvious. Taking his time to nuzzle the warm plating, nip just shy of sensor nodes, and vent hot air directly over the exposed array. Soundwave gripped his servos tightly, the slight shudder betraying his nerves where his forcibly relaxed body didn’t.

“Soundwave: Sorry. Statement:Unsure why-”

“Soundwave,” Tracks cut off his lover with an affectionate but exasperated noise. “Please, we can make it work. We’ll figure out what’s going on later, just enjoy yourself with me now.” He squeezed the servos back, placing another kiss to the inner thigh before pressing his glossa against the metalflesh folds of Soundwave’s valve. They quivered and gave way to the intrusion, a blurb of static belaying the cassette deck’s feelings on the matter.

Deeper he pressed, savoring the flavor that, while not particularly tasty, was a rare enough one to make it as sweet as the finest candied syrups you could buy. His glossa laved the inner walls, passing over sensor nodes and clusters, flicking the tip and pressing it to the top, covering the anterior rim node with his mouth before swirling glossa in a figure eight, each pass catching the node in a firm sweep. 

A jolt upward, a minute, barely there thrust accompanied each press of the glossa and despite the awkward position Tracks let go of one servo to encircle the finally slowly hardening spike. His engine revved hard as he felt Soundwave let go, give in to Tracks’ attentions, a heady feeling for the corvette.

His mouth stayed sealed over that node, one servo clutched in a fierce hold, the other working up and down Soundwave’s spike. Glossa flicking to press firmly, rubbing back and forth without letting the pressure up, then barely touching as it swiped back and forth. Lubricant was flowing, dripping from both his own valve and the one in front of him. 

The finally, fully pressurized spike now jutted proudly from its housing, no remembrance of earlier troubles. Tracks pressed his glossa to the anterior node once more before dragging it up the housing and the underside of Soundwave’s cable. A quick kiss and gentle mouthing set the head bobbing and he laughed at the movement.

Soundwave grumbled and let go of Tracks’ remaining servo to haul his mate up for a proper kiss.

“Tracks: Incorrigible.”

A snort.

“Have I ever told you that your berthroom talk is terrible?”

Soundwave adopted a stern look. “Fact: 11,380,987 times. Soundwave: Aware of poor ‘dirty talk’ skills. Tracks: More than compensates.”

Tracks settled on top of Soundwave, knees on either side of the blue pelvic plate and finally retracted his own valve panel, the thick lubricant dripping as he shifted and eased the turgid spike into himself. “Perhaps I just know how much you like the sound of my voice.”

He hummed as he rocked back and forth, the edges of their housing scraping together in a delightfully almost rough way. “Come on big boy, don’t you want to roll me over and fuck me through the berth?”

Blue hands stroked down wide spread thighs to clasp them just above the knee joint. “Negative. Soundwave: Enjoying the view.”

“Are you telling me to get on with it?” Tracks began a slow side to side movement. 

“Affirmative. Soundwave: Desires Tracks. Request: Ride me?”

Tracks’ vents hitched. The way the words were phrased was about as far from sexy as you could get, but the meaning behind them… That Soundwave wanted to watch Tracks, found him desirable and sexy, set his engine roaring. It never failed to get him revved up to hear Soundwave admit that he wanted Tracks. 

So he did. Working the calipers in his valve to squeeze and ripple around the spike in rhythm even as he bounced in short, sharp movements. Delighting in the feel of powerful hands tightening around his legs, in the small noises Soundwave made because even in lovemaking he was quiet and Tracks was ecstatic to be able to get him to let go.

He had already been more than revved up, and it was in short order that his first overload crashed through him, body arching and pelvic plate just barely rocking for just that extra stimulation as he bared down. 

Optics rebooted, static clearing, to see Soundwave bite his lower lip. He shifted up on his knees until only the head of the still hard spike still rested in his valve and circled his hips in a teasing movement. Soundwave’s own knees came up, pedes planting themselves on the berth, and he began slow thrusts, an unhurried pattern that was in stark contrast to previous pace.

A blue servo reached between them to stroke where they connected. Fingering exposed cables and smearing lubricant over both of them with soft strokes. The clang of metal meeting metal loud in the dim room, breathy moans and low murmurs the only other sounds as the two bots moved together, bodies working in harmony toward release. 

Motions grew more erratic, vents came quicker, and servos gripped whatever was closest. Soundwave pulled Tracks down, grinding their arrays together as thick, hot transfluid jetted out to hit the top of the clenching valve in rhythmic pulses. Calipers clamped down and released in time with the jets, milking the spike for all it could provide before they both fell limp onto the berth.

Tracks settled down, still straddling Soundwave, and lay his helm on the cassette deck’s glass chest panel. They stayed there, still intimately connected, just listening to the other’s systems, reveling in the moment.


End file.
